The Fall of IBK

    Scenes of Deja Vu yesterday in Mali, as a new coup ends IBK's reign. The same message that was seen in 2012 on the Malian TV screens announces  'soon a message from the military' for several long nail biting hours, until finally a line- up of army officers read out a prepared message to the Malian people:  they have been 'liberated' from the mismanagement of  the government and a new dawn has broken.                                                                         

                

But first the resignation speech by IBK- with a mask muffling his farewell words to the people: 'I am stepping down- what choice do I have? I do not wish blood to be spilled in my name.'

And when the  military finally did appear on screen about midnight (the new CNSP - Comite National pour le Salut du Peuple) they were made up of higher grades than Captain Sanogo and his Comrades in Arms in 2012. They were also more coherent and their 'spokesman' Colonel Ismael Wague delivered a well prepared and stirring address to the Malian people about their intentions to wipe out corruption and restore confidence in the faltering Malian institutions- the schools, the military and its response to the continuing crisis in the North and Centre of the country etc.  Their goals would be reached through the staging of elections and the democratic process would be upheld. (Ahem?)

It has all be said before of course. IBK promised these things to the people at his landslide victory over Soumaila Cisse in August 2013.

It was indeed a bloodless coup so far, after months of demonstrations in the streets of Bamako. The city is calm now says my friend Karen. 

There are of course differences between 2012 and 2020 which could work in favour of peace: since 2012 the UN peacekeeping mission MINUSMA are already present in the country in the form of  a vast network of troops deployed in key areas of the county. There is also the Barkhane mission, the French Sahel force of over 5000 soldiers with offensive mandate which will be joined by British and Swedish troops this year in the fight against the growing anti terrorism threat in the area. 

And what about my trip to Mali, booked on the 1st of September and much longed for and necessary for the continuing of the projects in Timbuktu and Djenne, I selfishly wonder... Please, please! let it all remain calm.

 

Torekov

                                                                 

                                                        

 is the name of the little fishing village on the west coast of southern Sweden where I return whenever I can to spend time with my cousins and friends from my teenage years.

'Fishing Village' is of course rather a misnomer- there is not much fishing going on, the little harbour is full of pleasure boats and well-healed summer guests.

The walk by the beach is an  olfactory treat as roses mix with the seaweed and salt water to create a heady happy scent.

My cousins regaled me with a garden barbecue  on the night of my arrival:

                                                     and I finally handed over to Pelle, my oldest cousin, the leather briefcase which was a present from Dr. Faira and the cataract team that come to Djenne every year. It is Pelle and his wife Nanni who have sponsored these free operations in Djenne for many years now. 

The briefcase also contained an official letter from the Djenne Mayor, extravagantly stamped and conveyed in a ceremonial eighteenth century French with Islamic touches which expressed gratefulness and wished happiness and the eventual safe conduct for them both into Paradise and the bosom of Abraham.

                                                                     

There were boating trips and there were picnics and cycling trips- there were memories of endless childhood days spent on the jetty crab fishing:

 

And yesterday I crossed Skane- the southern tip of Sweden to reach the Baltic eastern coast  and my big pal Eva the former Swedish ambassador to Mali in her ravishing coastal village of Brantevik!

                                                                     

 Not a cloud in the sky today. Picnic by the sea tonight- picnics seems to have become the preferred means of having fun all this summer- even here, although the Swedes never shut down their restaurants..!

                                                                     

Crossroads.

Crossroads.

Or taking stock. Or treading water. What next? What makes one decide on something? Some people are methodical and sit down and do lists of pros and cons, add them up and go for the option with the overwhelming pros. Some do the list, then look at it, tear it up and do the cons. 

Some never decide anything at all but ‘go with the flow’. Mother used to call that ‘choosing the path of least resistance’. She said that with a lot of disdain, although that is what she mostly did herself. Some listen to the advice of friends even if they then discard the advice.  

My new park bench friend David says that I must be careful that the Fez idea is not some sort of symptom of post lock down cabin fever. My old friend Clare says that he clearly doesn’t know me. My other old friend Sanjay says I should scrap Fez and go for Italy, as previously dreamed about and planned for.

Some pray for guidance. But therein lay further obstacles- how to know if the ‘feeling’ of being guided in one direction is not just a temptation to go down some garden path to some looming catastrophe?

How did I decide to go to live in Djenne? It now feels as if that decision was so crystal clear that it was hardly a decision at all. My two month trip there in April/May 2006 ‘to get the feel of the place’ did not present any soul searching decision making - even before I arrived there it was a clinched deal somehow. So what to do with this new one? Of course there is only one way: I will have to go and at the end of September. But tonight the nice man from the finance brokers will call (Sanjay says don't trust him, theyr'e all crooks) - will they lend me the money? My flat lies above commercial properties which is a problem, apparently…

But like all things, it will eventually all be clear. And first I go to Sweden on Thursday!

Bamako unrest and Fez

           

                             

Bamako has been shaken by three days of murderous uprisings. The former head of the Haute Conseil Islamic, the powerful Wahabist leaning Imam Dicko is widely accused of orchestrating the anti government demonstrations which aims to topple IBK- some say in order for himself  to try and grab power.  The entire country has been put on alert and even  in Timbuktu this morning the banks were closed. 

My Air France ticket has been booked for my long overdue return to Mali on the first of September-  who knows whether this will happen.

Everything now seems unstable in so many ways. It feels as if the very earth we stand on is  moving somehow, criss-crossed by fault lines of diverse origins- epidemics and other disasters pulling in different directions and threatening to make everything crumble...

Not perhaps the time to start dreaming and planning a risky new venture... but the other day some mysterious impulse made me look up properties for sale in Morocco and I landed immediately on this 18th century Riad in Fez with a roof terrace with 360 degree views over the medina and an outside space for a little garden and swimmingpool...

 

 

 

It needs complete refurbishment, but what a project! 6 bedrooms and 6 bathrooms! Thickly encrusted  with original glorious tiles and wood fret work! And I have a friend in Fez already, Gigi a vet who works in an American 'horse hospital' and knows all expats and has all necessary contacts of 'doing things up' in the medina. 

I was wondering why I have been learning Arabic- I thought that it was mainly in order to give Youssouf in Timbuktu some extra cash - and of course since I am involved in Arabic manuscripts it can be viewed as 'staff development'... but maybe there was another reason for it? Some sort of divine guidance with an ulterior motive? 

Hmmm.... what shall I call it? Riad Djenne? Riad Keita perhaps? 

I think I might just be serious about this...London life is just not quite enough. Let's see...

And there are enormous deposits of ancient Arabic manuscripts in Morocco of course, which my Benedictine friend and boss Father Columba would most certainly be interested in,  at least I should imagine so...